


Freeze without an answer (free from all the shame)

by MystikSpiral



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mentions of alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1230475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MystikSpiral/pseuds/MystikSpiral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey, Tony?” </p><p>Tony coughs aggressively as he rises up.</p><p>“Take it easy...” Steve’s voice trails off as he pulls back slightly. He watches the brunet get himself together, going through a coughing fit before wiping the side of his mouth of some drool. Tony looks exhausted, he always looks exhausted. Blood shot eyes, pencil markings smudged on the side of his face, and a look of confusion that reads ‘Why are you here?’ Not out of annoyance, just utter confusion, and Steve wished he could give him an answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freeze without an answer (free from all the shame)

**Author's Note:**

> This work is inspired by [ Qouinette's comic strip](http://qouinette.tumblr.com/post/77504372086/testing-my-comic-skill-and-quickly-latched-onto) that you all should check out before reading this~ Beta'd by the amazing Morphia-writes, as usual.

Steve learns early on to ignore the clinking of bottles on concrete floors. He knows Tony drinks excessively, but never bothers walking in to see what's wrong. A broken man consoling another broken man? It doesn’t make sense. So Steve doesn’t. It's easier to pretend that eventually Tony would be okay, but the clinking of glass bottles is so incessant, he can’t ignore it tonight.

After slowly opening the door to where the noise resonated from, the first thing he hears is Dum-E whirring over Tony’s shoulder. Poor thing, it's as if Steve can feel the robot’s state of mind. Pure distraught, because the brunet's face is planted in the work desk, a half way empty bottle of whiskey standing upright beside him. Steve lets one of his bare feet hit the concrete -- cold, as he'd predicted. Another step forward, and his foot hits an empty bottle, he steps over the next one as if walking through an obstacle course. 

The blond's expression shifts from concern to lost, he knows what to do next, ask if he's okay, hear the genius say yes, and then turn on his heels while saying Tony shouldn’t drink anymore, as if that would solve everything. However, right now he doesn’t know if he can do that. Steve reaches out a hesitant hand.

“Hey, Tony?” 

Tony coughs aggressively as he rises up.

“Take it easy...” Steve’s voice trails off as he pulls back slightly. He watches the brunet get himself together, going through a coughing fit before wiping the side of his mouth of some drool. Tony looks exhausted, he always looks exhausted. Blood shot eyes, pencil markings smudged on the side of his face, and a look of confusion that reads ‘Why are you here?’ Not out of annoyance, just utter confusion, and Steve wished he could give him an answer.

“He-Hey, Rogers. Steve.” 

His name is uttered like a reminder, it makes Steve cringe. The super soldier attempts to back away subtly until Tony speaks again.

“I knew you’d be awake, you’re always awake - alert.” Tony grumbles the last part.

The statement isn’t surprising. Sometimes Steve carries his shield and paces back and forth around the balcony, because he never feels safe. His mindset seemingly gets stuck in battle and war. War to the blond isn’t good nor bad, it just is. He’s a soldier, he’ll always be a soldier. 

“Yeah.” Is his response, not really knowing anything else he can say.

A brief moment of silence, then Tony opens his mouth once more.

“I’d drawn and redrawn some ideas for the next suit one hundred and thirty times, sober. I don’t know how many I’ve done now.” Tony let’s out a laugh. Steve frowns.

“It always comes out the exact same, nothing was wrong with the first draft. It’s just… it never makes sense. And I want to make sense of everything.” 

Steve knows he isn’t talking about the suit. It’s never really about the suit. He gets it, since he’s trying to make sense of it all too. Sleepless nights pacing due to relentless nightmares and flashbacks are triggered by him trying to make sense of things. The fact that he still feels a slight chill when he even thinks about war is maddening. 

“Let’s get you to bed.” Steve grabs Tony’s wrist a bit rougher than intended, Tony pulls away from his grasp.

“I’m not one of your soldiers. You can’t just bark orders at me.” 

The chill briefly passes through Steve, but he grits his teeth and pushes through the feeling.

“Please Tony. Just - come on--”

“Why?”

Steve’s frustrated, he’s hanging on by a fucking thread that’s fraying away.

“I don’t know Tony! I don’t fucking know, but I do know I can’t stand this. I know you’re not going stop doing this tomorrow, or the next day, but for tonight, please, just go to sleep.” 

Tony’s mouth gapes open, then snaps closed.

“Take me to bed?” The brunet’s voice is small now, Steve sighs.

“Yeah..”

Steve guides Tony up the stairs, keeping a firm grasp on his hand. He doesn’t know why he does it, but he just does. The brunet is sober enough to find his way, yet he hangs onto Steve like a scared child. When he lets go of Tony’s hand, he presses himself against the doorway.

“Good night Tony.” 

Tony stares at him, takes a few steps close and kisses him on the lips. Steve’s eyes go wide, and then he’s kissing back, placing shaky hands on the sides of the brunet’s face. The kiss isn’t sweet or comforting. It’s two broken men sharing their desperation, swapping secrets that they wouldn’t consider in a passing thought. Steve can taste the remnants of alcohol on Tony's tongue. Tony reaches up and clutches his shaky hands, calming the tremors - and Steve realizes that he can’t do this. They can’t do this.

Steve pulls away, whispering against his lips “We can’t--”

Tony looks shattered, and it makes Steve’s heart crack.

“Steve please, yes we can-- yes--”

“No, I-I’m sorry.” 

Just like that, Steve’s running away again, as usual. Needing fresh air or something to clear his clouded mind. Needing something to help him breathe and stop fucking thinking for once. He and Tony need to not think, and sadly, he doesn’t know if they can do that together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
